AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello friends!

Oh, my goodness – I have been woeful in writing anything recently.

You may recognise this story as "Before You Go" which I originally posted some months ago now and have since deleted.

I have had a crazy year and got completely lost with this story. When finally, I had time to come back to it, I did not like the direction of this story or the way I had written it. So here it is again, re-written and hopefully with more consistent updates in future. Chapters 1-2 at least.

This is the sequel piece to a previous fic of mine titled "Candle In The Window" - for continuity's sake and better understanding of this story, it may be the best idea to read, or have read, that story before this one.

Anyways, hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

And that you are all safe and well, of course!

DISCLAIMER: PURELY A WORK OF FF.

CHAPTER 1

The silence was driving Jo insane. She and Dena had always maintained a generalized witty banter, and just as equally gotten on each other's nerves; that being said, it had never escalated so significantly that be had been unable to tolerate being in the same room as her.

Even after the Duluth incident.

While the contact had been sporadic – as it always was – he always found something to say to her.

The chasm of awkwardness that seemed to deepen between them as they co-existed in Bobby's house awaiting the apocalypse? This was something entirely different. It was the kind of distance that Jo could not brush off; concern for what had triggered this sudden change in Dean's attitude towards her needling at her skin.

Jo could recognise that this was something far more personal. It was entirely more grating.

She had been desperate enough to ask Sam what was bothering his notoriously brooding older brother, but even he seemed not to know what exactly had gotten under Dean's skin. Or he was suddenly spectacularly competent at covering for his older brother. As far as Jo was concerned, this was unlikely considering the younger Winchester was not the best liar she had ever met and he doubted he would be able to bluff his way into beating her at a game of poker, let alone convince her that his brother's behavior was within the realms of normality. Jo was convinced, therefore, that Sam had little knowledge of the torment plaguing Dean's mind.

Ellen and Bobby may have noticed but had not acknowledged the shift in Dean's composure or general wariness of his surroundings. They had both come to agree that it had been the whole Gabriel-time-warp-debacle that had catalyzed Dean's change in behavior.

Jo was not so convinced that such a simple explanation could be all that had caused this. She was sure there was something far more sinister at play.

With Ellen and Bobby on their weekly supply run - which mostly consisted of various alcohols – Bobby's house was quiet. Jo could hear the faint monoenoic drone of the TV downstairs but also knew that there was no one watching it. It existed as white noise alone. Sam would be asleep in his room. Dean would be doing...God knows whatever Dean did when he nothing to hunt, shoot or decapitate.

The inhabitants of Bobby's house merely existed alongside each other waiting for the signal to go chase the Devil. Hopefully for the last time; relying on a repeatedly disappearing Angel to make a well-timed appearance.

Unable to justify staring any longer at the wall from the squeaky mattress in her borrowed room, Jo's thoughts swirling relentlessly in her head, she let out a deep sigh and abandoned her own brooding, shuffling downstairs to the kitchen. Jo glanced into the living room, spotting the still-on TV and Bobby's desk, occupied by an ever-brooding Dean Winchester who was pouring over several of Bobby's books as if his life depended on it.

If nothing else, Dean reading books had to be an indication that something was drastically wrong in his head.

Jo had never seen Dean so invested in research even, funnily, when his life had actually depended on such research. She frowned, knowing that the man was more of a, "shoot first, ask questions later" kind of hunter.

For Jo this was an opportunity. Taking a beer from the refrigerator, Jo approached Dean like she would a cornered, nervous animal. She was quiet enough that there was no opportunity for him to notice her presence and make a poor excuse and matching hasty getaway.

Dean's eyes finally met her, and Jo found a strange affection there that she had never noticed before.

Whatever this was, it was personal.

Almost immediately however, his walls were resurrected. He grumbled, "What?"

Jo rolled her eyes, "You've got your, I've done something real stupid, face on."

Dean swallowed. He should have snapped some witty comment back to her but there was nothing right he could think to say.

Having sensed that her usual brand of teasing initiation had not succeeded in goading him into conversation, Jo leant on one hip and crossed her arms over her chest, snarking, "You giving me the silent treatment of something? Not a fan. You have barely looked at me-"

Dean did not hear the remainder of her accusations. His reasons for not being able to meet her eye over the past month were stupid – he was aware of that. Afterall, he could not be sure that anything Gabriel had told him, and showed him, had been - or could someday be - real. It was perfectly within character for Gabriel, and any Angels really, to be able to perfectly craft such fantastic realities with little regard for reality and consequence. The problem was that every time Dean did look at Jo, he felt some strange universal compulsion to confess to her everything about what he had seen, whether true or not. What Gabriel had showed him about the other version of his life, her life, what happened to Ellen...and Millie of course. All of it.

Dean had thought of Gabriel's version of Jo and her daughter almost every day since returning to the timeline and reality he recognized. His own, actual life. He had watched his- or this, version of Jo as she moved around Bobby's house and interacted with his brother and mother, entirely unaware of the alternate course her life could take within a matter of weeks. He was also aware that she had become increasingly more pissed with his lack of communication with her despite being sociable with the rest of their comrades, as much as he was ever prone to in the first place. He knew it was only a matter of time before Jo demanded some explanation, understanding her as he did. There would be no denying her that when she finally broke.

And as she stood before, intimidating, lovely and vibrantly full of life, holding a beer he wished he could chug, all Dean could see was the widow trapped in her grief in Gabriel's timeline.

He held out his hand as some small gesture of peace. Her lips turned upwards slightly and held the beer out to him.

"Thanks Jo," he offered.

The exact opposite of what he had hoped for seemed to be achieved as Jo appeared encouraged by this small interaction and she propped herself on the edge of the desk. Dean wondered if some small gesture of surrender on his part might mitigate her concern and reassure her that he held no animosity towards her.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. A sense of obligation, immense guilt, and complicated twists of odd fond emotions that he could not interpret.

"What's eating at you?" Jo asked, her expression finally softening.

Dean sighed, rolling the bottle in his hands, "This whole...Devil thing. I don't know...I just think only Sam and I-"

Jo grave an incredulous chuckle. Dean was infuriated by the sardonic grin on her face as she interrupted him, "You really think that Mom and I are going to let you guys do this all by yourself? You really think Mom would even entertain that idea for a second?"

You would if you knew what might happen, Dean thought.

He shook his head. He opened his mouth to respond but could not find it within himself to utter anything, least of all, the truth. He doubted Jo would believe him anyway.

"Do you not trust us or something?" Jo questioned.

This had nothing to do with trust. Jo, and Ellen for that matter, were two of the few people that Dean could say he truly and wholeheartedly trusted. This, too, was a problem he had not thought to prepare himself for – trusting the Harvelles as he did mean relying on them in situations where there was every chance that they would get hurt. This could lead to the possibility of the future that Dean had been witness to in Gabriel's timeline...and all its consequences.

Could Dean live with himself allowing Jo and Ellen to willingly walk blindly into battle with the Devil knowing what he knew?

Jo was frowning at him now. She sighed, "Fine. Just say the word and I am sure Mom will be happy to bail out. After this is all over. Then you and I can go back to hating each other."

She slid off the desk and flounced away and heavily climbed the stairs. Dean swallowed, dismayed at the hurt rendered across her features as she left.

That was the problem at its core, he realized. He really could not hate Jo.

He was certain he never had.